


Rise

by bonesandchekov (blueharlequin), theotherdoctor (blueharlequin)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angels, Angst, BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Communication Failure, Fallen Angels, Feelings, Headcanon, Implied/Referenced Torture, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Mythology References, No beta we fall like Crowley, Pining, Protective Crowley, Redemption, References to Supernatural (TV), Timeline What Timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-05-16 21:42:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19326658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueharlequin/pseuds/bonesandchekov, https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueharlequin/pseuds/theotherdoctor
Summary: Crowley rescues Aziraphale from Heaven and discovers something he never thought possible





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> mobile users can click on linked superscripts to see the foot notes, hover text is in effect as well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> massively unbetaed, author is quite drunk at the moment of posting

It hadn’t been a slow six millennia seduction. From the first morning that they had watched Adam and Eve from high atop the wall they had been barely frenemies. Aziraphale didn’t have an adversarial bone in his body, and Crowley was not there to make the effort. For the first few centuries they only saw each other at major events. Things that the home office deemed “noteworthy attendance.” Seeing Aziraphale there was like greeting an old acquaintance that liked a different sports team than you did. It was only after the first five hundred that Crowley got bored, there was no one else he could relate to. Then suddenly, he saw the angel again and it was almost like one of his temptations. Here was someone who could relate to the tediousness of reporting to a home office that barely gave instruction and almost absolutely no feedback. _[1] _

The encounters picked up after that, and for the serpent it began as a game. It was hardly anything to tempt Aziraphale into the pleasures of food and drink. The discovery that the angel quite enjoyed (to the point of excess) a nice wine was both ironic and confusing. He had tried lust and that was shut down with the threat of a smiting. Crowley wasn’t as ambitious to keep pressing and by then, temptation by sex was so gauche. Really, the humans did not need any encouragement in that department. Plus, he rather liked sex, so using it for temptations sake made it a bit like work instead of fun, and that would simply just not do. So, Crowley re-routed his energy into trickery and one can only imagine his surprise when the ‘Arrangement’ was tacitly agreed upon. For the first few centuries afterwards, he had a suspicion that the angel had actually got one over on him. _[2] _

Crowley had not realized that Aziraphale was in love with him until 1970. Love was a long forgotten and unattainable thing, so it was quite unrecognizable when he might have had a funny feeling here and there. The first one being when the blond had said “Tempt you into it?” It had been a jest, but Crowley had felt his flesh and blood heart stutter for a second. He had chalked it up to yet another strange quirk of being in a corporeal body so long. There had been several times after that, but the most notable was in 1941 when his angel had nearly gotten himself bloody well discorporated by some Nazis. The fleshly thing inside of him had damn near stopped when he came upon them. After the bomb dropped, the burning sensation in his feet flashed through the rest of his body at the angel’s broken tone over his books. Before he had even thought about why he should even do it, the books had been in his hand and the excuse on his lips.

Now that he had time and reflection from the Not-pocolyse on his side, Crowley recognised that feeling he had in Rome so long ago. He hadn't been gone on angel yet, but it was then that the seeds had been laid. Facing down the King of Hell had been simultaneously the most terrifying and exhilarating thing he had ever done, or at least that is what he had thought at that moment. However, the demon learned that terror was relative to time. Crowley was so sure that Heaven would leave them alone for some while.

Banging into the bookshop as usual, his heart figuratively stopped beating. It was in shambles; a fight had taken place. His panicked rush around the premises yielded no angel. He paused to take in the mess, there was no stench of sulfur and the place was not on fire. In fact, Crowley could distinctly smell the tang of burnt incense and ozone that marked the stink of Heaven so well. Those righteous bastards had kidnapped his angel.

It was ridiculously easy sneaking into Heaven. Though, Crowley mused to himself, it was equally easy to sneak into Hell. It was going to be the getting out that was the hard part. Pulling up to the building he strolled through the doors and ambled up the escalator. Crowley had even dressed the part in a unremarkable cream suit, miracled to fit him from Aziraphale's modest closet. _[3] _ A white toquilla hat and aviator sunglasses completed the look and covered up his flaming hair and obviously not angelic eyes. Looking around he muttered under his breath, "You've got to be kidding me." In the middle of the atrium was a directory and reception desk surrounded by dozens of staircases. He sauntered.. eh, walked sedately up to the desk and waited for the angel on the typewriter behind it to notice him. After several moments, he cleared his throat. Without even looking up, the angel said in a bored tone, "Prayer applications for canonizations are on the fourth floor, reports of simulacra are filed on floor eight, all other forms are located on twenty three."

Crowely was at turns amazed and indignant at the lack of security and awareness. It made him wonder briefly what had happened in the ensuing time after he Fell that Heaven now looked like this. Instead he stated, "I'm here for the Principality Aziraphale." Ha, maybe that would get her to look up.

Instead the angelic clerk replied in exasperation, "Floor thirteen, they have been waiting on you, Inquisitor." She flapped her hand in the direction of the nearest most staircase and pointedly turned away from him to shuffle some papers. As anticlimactic as his daring rescue was turning out to be, the demon wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He dodged a cluster of angels as he took the steps two at a time. They looked at him curiously but went back to furiously whispering to themselves. Arriving on the designated floor, he groaned to himself as a long corridor presented itself. Filled with arches and closed doorways he was momentarily at a loss. Looking for another directory, he ducked into an alcove as a group of Seraphim stopped nearby. Eavesdropping shamelessly, Crowley was horrified about some of the new things angels had been getting into. Apparently, Michael, Uriel, Zachariah _[4] _ and quite a few of the other angels had changed bodies and tactics after the Incident with Adam. With the new regime, a new crusade to start another apocalypse and further their ambition they had no compunction about torturing humans into complying with their plans. To this end, he found that they were holding Aziraphale in a room down the adjoining hall.

Abandoning the scheming seraphs, he crept down the hall until he found a room where an array of needle like devices were sitting on a tray outside; through the wall he could hear voices. Quietly opening the door, he discovered Zira strapped face down on a bed as two other angels were holding out Aziraphale’s wings while the third was holding an axe ready to cut them off. _[5] _ Crowley didn't know where it came from, but a terrifying and majestic power rose up in him. Something that he hadn’t felt since before his Fall. The air around him glowed and crackled with righteous energy. The power blew away his disguise, leaving him clad in a black pallium with his fiery locks whipping around him. The angels looked up, at first annoyed at the interruption, and then fearful as a creature of celestial light advanced upon them. For the first time in several millennia, three angels were smote out of existence. Lost in the moment, Crowley could barely comprehend what had happened, but the astonishment was quickly wiped away as he heard Zira moan in pain. The angels had treated him roughly the demon noted as he brushed away the bloody strands of hair, “Oh Angel, they didn’t suffer enough for what they’ve done.” He unbuckled the straps and lifted Aziraphale gently. “Just hold on, love.”

Something must have alerted the angels to the imminent danger in their midst. The halls were empty as he carried his angel through the stark white corridors. He could hear whispers everywhere but no one stopped him has he took multiple staircases down. However, once he reached the lobby, he paused as Uriel stood in his way. The archangel had changed bodies, and not for the better, this one was older male instead of the carefully coiffed female he has last seen at Aziraphale's attempted execution by Hellfire. The only thing that had not changed was the sneer of indifferent disgust on the angel's face. "Demon," he spat. "I don't know how you accomplished that little feat, but you will not be leaving here."

Before Crowley could even speak, the floor between them manifested a circle of light and the Metatron appeared. The glowing head regarded the Fallen and his precious burden for a span of minutes then swiveled to face the Cherub. "Uriel," he intoned, "let them pass." The angel opened his mouth to protest but stopped as the Voice of God spoke again, "It is Commanded."

Crowley wasn't going to press his luck, he hastily strode by, watching the two beings out of the corner of his eye. After basically running down the escalator, he bolted out of the building and flung the doors to the Bentley open. Zira would have berated him up and down for the speed in which he tore through London to his long disused flat.

Dashing up the stairs, he waved his hand, simultaneously opening the door and transforming the couch into comfy chaise. He laid the angel down, taking care not to jostle his wings too much. Crowley conjured up a basin of water and a soft towel. He gently wiped the blood from the angel's face, taking care around the numerous bruises that littered the angel's skin. Aziraphale had been stripped of his usual suit and draped in the one of the togas they had worn at the beginning of time. The fabric was now more pink than white, and the demon unwrapped yards of the irritating fabric to reveal the scores of cuts and burns littering the angel's pale skin. He wanted to rage and scream but that wouldn't change anything. He despaired, demonic energy was bollocks for healing angels. He could do it to himself, but he wasn't sure if it would hurt Zira more if he tried. He would  wait until the angel was awake before attempting that; instead he concentrated on cleaning wounds and dressing the angel in soft bandages.

 

 

* * *

 

 

  
[1] In a word he was lonely. [return to text]

[2] Crowley would occasionally tail Aziraphale to one of their assignments and was, most of the time, beside himself in amazement when the angel accomplished both the temptation and the thwart in record time [return to text]

[3] in comparison to Crowley's at least [return to text]

[4] not an angel that Crowley remembered well, but what he did recall was the swarmy ambition the angel radiated [return to text]

[5] if Crowley had bothered to notice at this point, the brown splotches on Aziraphales wings were not dried blood [return to text]


	2. Chapter 2

Hours later, when Aziraphale finally opened his eyes, Crowley almost keened in relief. The angel’s hand moved to grab his and squeezed tightly. “Don’t worry dear. I’ll be right as rain shortly.”

"I didn't know if I could help," Crowley moved his hands over a particularly nasty cut, he paused to the let the angel know what he was going to do, still unsure if his powers would be effective in this endeavour. The other being nodded and the demon gestured over the wound. The lines of pain eased in Aziraphale's face. Crowley sighed in relief, "I wasn't sure it wouldn't actually cause you more pain."

Aziraphale wheezed softly, "I don't think it matters at this point which one of us is performing the miracles." He held still as Crowley moved over him, his hands skimming over every laceration and bruise. Finally every injury was healed, and the demon collapsed in exertion across the angel's chest.

He muttered, “I don’t understand, what did they want?”

Aziraphale sighed. “Apparently, my actions have caused some discontent among the ranks. Some of the younger angels are asking questions and not Falling and that is angering the Seraphim. The recent defection of one of their garrison leaders was the last straw. _[1] _ Since I have been around humans the longest, they wanted to understand what his motivations were.” Aziraphale’s nose scrunched up, and his eyes widened as he finally remembered, “Crowley you _glowed_ , that was angelic power. What happened?"

Crowley turned his head, looking at a point in the air somewhere behind Aziraphale. “Did you know that most of the Fallen don’t remember who they were in Heaven? Your new Name just comes to you as you lie on the floor of the Pit where you land.” Aziraphale nodded. _[2] _ He paused, “I still don’t remember my Name. Sometimes, when I’m with you, I can almost think of it, right there on the tip of my brain. However, in that moment, up there, I remembered the Virtue I had been.” The demon missed the astonished look that crossed the angel's face. In a quiet and bewildered voice, he continued, “All I could think about is how I couldn’t lose you. And it was there. Maybe it was because I was in Heaven, maybe She wanted it to be, part of Her dam- bless- something ineffable plan.”

Aziraphale’s face cycled through so many emotions that Crowley couldn’t keep up. His normally expression of prim and proper with barely concealed anxiety had been wiped clean and the demon was left with a mystified look of awe. He didn’t know whether or not to be offended or embarrassed. Standing somewhat abruptly, he prevaricated, “Well, Angel! You must be tired, you need your rest. I'll just pop out for a moment and get you a spot of tea." Crowley’s hands were seven different places while he was rambling on. Pulling the blanket up over the angel, smoothing it out and impossibly at the same time grabbing a couple of dirty teacups on the table beside the couch while practically running out of the sitting room into the kitchen.

Aziraphale wanted to call him back, but lacked the strength to do so. Crowley had run away again. The angel slumped against the couch. _"This really was becoming a pattern,"_ he thought. However, he decided not to push the issue, the demon would come around in his own time. Aziraphale was really resigned in his action to wait for him, but just a little exasperated at the length it was taking the demon to get there.

A few days passed with Crowley fussing over Aziraphale as he recovered. Anytime the angel tried to bring up his rescue, things related to his rescue or anything that might possibly involve _feelings_ the demon abruptly changed the subject. He was so glaringly unsubtle about it at one point Aziraphale almost threw a teacup at him. _[3] _ It wasn't even that Crowley would, and often did disappear when it was nearing sensitive subjects, it was the audacity that he thought the angel would simply let it go.

The demon let loose a moue of displeasure when Aziraphale got up on his own to set the kettle to boil. He huffed as the angel gently pushed him out of the way to fetch another cup. "I'm feeling perfectly fine, thank you very much," he pointedly responded to the unspoken question posed by demon’s twitch at the contact. "It doesn't take a feat of strength to make tea, Crowley." The demon fidgeted and watched as the angel moved about his kitchen. Aziraphale observed him surreptitiously, noting that Crowley's expression vacillated between outright panic and mulish stubbornness. The kettle whistled and he moved it to the other side of the hob and switched off the burner. Deciding enough was enough, he moved to block the door of the kitchen. “Dear, I’m tired of this dance between us. I want to know whatever it is twisting you up inside."

Crowley reared back; his body bowed like the snake he was. Under his glasses, his eyes darted to the sides seeking an escape route. "You don't want to know. You won't like it." _[4] _

Aziraphale advanced on him and he felt cornered like an animal. The angel boxed him in with his arms against the countertop, then reached up, gently removed his sunglasses and searched his face for understanding. “I’m not _thick_ Crowley. Despite my outward display of gormless affability, I really do know what is going on most of the time. Trust me I _know_ , and if I wasn’t so gone on you as well, I would have gone mad by now.”

Crowley slumped forward, all of the fight leaving his body. “Demons are not supposed to, you know, it's just not done,” he muttered, his eyes cast down. “I thought what we have now would be enough.” His hands flexed uselessly at his sides, grasping the air in frustration. “I’m afraid of losing it because I want more.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Just because demons are not supposed to love doesn't mean they can't, and you've never really done well with being told you shouldn't do something." He paused, and tilted the demon's chin up, so they were eye to eye. "I think I’ve caught up to you now. I think the time for _more_ is overdue.” The angel dropped his arms and stepped back just enough to give the demon the option to flee.

Slowly, Crowley reached forward and cradled Aziraphale’s cheeks in his hands, gazing at him, eyes asking, hoping for anything. The angel leaned into the touch and smiled. The Fallen leaned forward and was overjoyed when the angel met him halfway. Their first kiss was soft, hesitant. Crowley drew back slowly, but Zira’s hand stopped him, drew him back. The second kiss was far more, in every way; more heated, more confidant, more of each other.

Aziraphale shivered and Crowley reluctantly backed away, giving him some space. “No,” the angel whispered, grasping the demon’s shoulders lightly. “Just a bit nervous, dear.” He paused, “And maybe a bit excited. I’m not exactly sure which one, I’ve never done this before.” _[5] _

“Be sure, Angel. This isn’t one of my temptations. We both go into this thing with our eyes wide open. I’m going to devour every inch of you, if you allow me to.” Aziraphale stared at him, looking into his eyes long and hard enough that Crowley almost felt like dropping his gaze again. The angel’s scrutiny was almost predatory.

“Yes. I think I’d like that.”

 

* * *

 

[1] Aziraphale had never met the little Angel of Thursday, but that might have been because when he had left to guard the Eastern Gate, the other angel was still very young, and the calendar days were still very much a mess. [return to text]

[2] Angels didn't remember the original names for the Fallen either, the knowledge simply vanished from their consciousness [return to text]

[3] He was most sorely tempted to do so, as it would also give Aziraphale the excuse to replace Crowley's dreadfully gauche set of Wedgwood he was currently using [return to text]

[4] God paused a moment in Her Ineffable Card Game to spare an eyeroll [return to text]

[5] Although Aziraphale lacked most of the practical knowledge, one doesn't live for over 6000 years without gaining virtually all of the theoretical knowledge. In addition, hanging out with writers and poets (in particular Sappho, Oscar Wilde, and Vatsayana) exposes one to all manner of things [return to text]


	3. Chapter 3

Crowley took a what simultaneously felt like an eternity and a nanosecond to comprehend what the angel just agreed to, before he hauled him up from the counter and spirited them both into the demon's disused bedroom. They landed on the bed in a puff of dust and lint, which Crowley immediately miracled away to clean fresh sheets. _[1] _ They kissed and kissed and kissed as Crowley smoothed his hands down the angel's waistcoat and slowly worked on each mother of pearl button. Breaking apart, he asked against Aziraphale's lips, "What will it be this time angel? Anything you want, what kind of Effort would you like?"

Aziraphale pinked up rather attractively at the question. "For me or for you?"

Crowley smirked. "Why not both?"

Zira took a moment to lick the expression off his face. "I think cocks this time, dear. Maybe next time I'll spend an age licking your nice plush cunt instead." The demon's mouth dropped open for a moment before he shivered at the thought, overjoyed that there was already a future with a _next time_. Since they had landed unceremoniously in a tangle on the bed, Crowley sat back on his haunches and surveyed the being below him. Aziraphale was flushed and panting.[2]

"May I?" he inquired, as his eyes roamed up and down the angel's body. Zira smiled and snapped their clothes away. He chuckled at the surprised look on the demon's face at his initiative. Determined not to go too fast for his angel, Crowley decided that he was going to discover every inch of his corporeal being. Sliding down, he picked up Aziraphale's left foot and lifted it up. He glanced up the bed, and saw Aziraphale raise his eyebrows in question. Crowley smirked and blew across the sole of his foot and watched in delight as a shiver ran through the body below him. The Fallen slowly mouthed down one side of sole to the other.

The angel huffed and tried to wrench away, "That tickles!" The demon hummed and deliberately ran his tongue up the sole from heel to toe, clutching the foot firmly so the angel couldn't jerk away. The high pitched squeal he received turned into a gasp as Crowley sucked the celestial being's toe into his mouth. He nibbled his way up, kitten licking at the angel’s ankles and ignoring the soft stunned pants his actions created. The demon let go and grabbed Aziraphale's other foot giving it the same treatment.

Crowley worked his way up, gently massaging the angel's calves, and watching Zira's hands as he tried not to tear at the sheets below him. Crowley moved up and peppered the inside of Aziraphale's thighs with kisses, cradling his hips and rubbing his pelvis with his thumbs. His nose brushed the angel’s testicles, but he paused to suck bruises into the insides of the angel's thighs. At this point, Zira had closed his eyes and gave himself over to just experiencing Crowley's ministrations. The demon ghosted soft breaths up the curve of the angels' groin. Aziraphale whined in protest has he bypassed the angel’s erection and kissed the soft skin of his belly. The demon drenched his tummy in open mouthed kisses, tickling him slightly on the sides with his fingers. Aziraphale tried to bat Crowley's head away and but the fallen angel pushed his hands to the side.

"Ah ah, every part of you angel," he smoothed his hand over the plump thighs and lush abdomen before him. "So much for me to love." He nipped softly at the flesh next to his belly button. "Mine," he declared with a bit of viciousness. He pulled the angel's hands toward him. Zira keened as Crowley slowly drew each one of the angel's fingers into his mouth and sucked as he pulled them out. He slid his hands up, gently pressing down on the angel's shoulders has he dived toward his chest. Aziraphale's breath caught as he sucked one of his peaked nipples into his mouth. The demon licked and bit at it until it was rosy before moving to the other one. He gave it the same treatment until Zira squirmed too much. Next he attacked the delicious skin around Aziraphale's collarbone before biting gently at his neck. He groaned as the angel's hands skated over his slender hips. They found purchase in a narrow patch of delicate scales adorning his girdle  and lower back. He glanced upwards briefly and noted that Aziraphale was completely lost in bliss, not even aware that his delirious touches inflamed Crowley's passion. The desperate gasps and pants that fell from his lips only fuelled Crowley onwards. He wanted to overwhelm his angel, he wanted him to be completely be consumed by the pleasure the demon was bestowing on him.

Crowley gently nibbled up the line of his jaw. He reached the curve of his ear and murmured, "Turn over." Aziraphale mindlessly followed his instruction. Crowley grasped his arms, helping and positioning him as he rolled in place. The Fallen gently ran his hands through the angel's hair, massaging his neck and shoulders as he moved back down. The angel let out a soft cry as Crowley sunk his teeth into the soft swell of the angel's left buttock.  He laved the bite mark afterwards, then teased the same action on the other side, lightly gripping the skin between his teeth, pressing down enough that Aziraphale trembled and shook beneath him in anticipation. Instead, he licked teasingly then moved over to blow lightly over his cleft. Using his thumbs, he spread Aziraphale open and placed a delicate kiss against the tight furl in front of him.

The angel's breath hitched, and he heard him exhale in consternation, "Crowley?" The demon slid his hands up and down the angel’s thighs tenderly reassuring him. He dove back in and lapped around and over the soft bud, drinking in the angel's startled gasps. Moving his thumbs in circles around the soft curves of Zira's arse he increased the pressure of his tongue, dipping inside and probing him open until the Principality could do nothing but moan and press back into the wet caresses.

Crowley deftly replaced his tongue with two slicked fingers. He smiled to himself as the angel let out a soft squeak and pressed eagerly into them. "Shh, easy, easy, Angel no need to rush" He eased his fingers out and smirked as Zira, whined in protest. "Turn over, Angel. I want to see you." Aziraphale flipped over so quickly that Crowley couldn't help a small chuckle. Aziraphale gripped his shoulders and pulled him back up to him. The angel plundered his mouth like he was trying to devour him. Crowley let him carry on for a moment before he drew back. "Sss-spoiled Angel, you want everything, don't you?"

"Yes, yes, everything you want to give me," Aziraphale replied, his pupils blown wide with arousal.

"Anything, for you, Angel." Crowley ran his thumb down the side for Aziraphale's face. The angel turned his head and kissed his palm. Crowley drew back and slipped one hand underneath the angel's hips, tilting him up. He slid forward, and for once only relied on a slight nod and thought to ease the way into the hot welcoming body below him. Zira keened and arched his back, eagerly pulling Crowley toward him. The demon laughed. "What did I say? Greedy." The angel just hummed and grabbed at him, pulling him closer. He rocked his hips forward as Crowley rolled his into him. The both let out strangled moans at the time. Aziraphale tugged him down and licked and bit at his mouth until Crowley was sure the angel was trying to consume him in every way.

The demon tried not to get lost in the myriad sensations; the indulgent feeling of Aziraphale around him as their flesh rubbed against each other, the increasing exclamations of pleasure and the heady smell of the angel's desire. He spared a moment to return to lucidity when Aziraphale wound a hand in his hair and tugged. "Crowley," he panted, " _harder_." The demon moaned in approval, leaned back, and placed his hands firmly on the angel's hips, driving himself deeper inside. Aziraphale braced his hands on the wall and pushed back, wailing in delight. "Ah, ah more, please, _Crowley!_ " he demanded. How could he refuse an order like that? With a snarl the fallen angel's wings unfurled and whipped him forth, almost crushing him into the angel below. Aziraphale's sharp gasp pulled his attention down to the angel's face. The angel was looking at his wings in awe, his electric blue eyes sparked with hunger and veneration. Crowley saw the moment Aziraphale's pleasure crashed into him. The angel's eyes darkened like the oncoming storm over Eden on their first meeting and his body arched off of the bed with the force of it.

Crowley was hit with a wave of pure feeling. He drowned in the exaltation like votary. Aziraphale around him and in him, the feeling burned through his chest like the Presence. The pleasurable onslaught abruptly knocked him into his own orgasm. His wings thrashed the air as he shuddered through it and the angel's body squeezed him exquisitely as he poured himself inside. Aziraphale hands came down and gripped his wrists, dragged him down on top of him. Crowley's wings came down around them to soften his landing and he collapsed onto his angel.

They ended as they started, kissing and kissing and kissing until Aziraphale threaded his hand behind Crowley and tugged at his wings. "My love, you should see. Crowley, look." The demon slid back carefully and turned to look. His black wings were gone, replaced by something not that he once had, but not wholly unfamiliar either. Dark brown stripes stretched over a canvas of rust and cream feathers. He kneeled back and spread them out completely, looking back and forth as he examined the pattern. Aziraphale whispered, "A kestrel, they look like a kestrel's wings."

He folded them gently, bewildered and disbelieving, his eyes stuck on the adoration of the angel before him. A thought struck him, clear as the peal of a church bell, of a memory in a too bright room and a surge of power. He pulled his angel up so that they both kneeled, facing each other, "Aziraphale," he started. "When was the last time you looked at your wings?"

The angel stilled in his arms, "I don't know," he murmured thoughtfully. _[3] _ A blink and a rustle later, and suddenly they were there. Crowley unconsciously stopped breathing as the angel unfurled soft gray and cream wings with light chestnut mottling. "Oh," came the Principality's little cry of amazement as they both considered the new development.

Crowley buried his head in the angel's shoulder and chuckled softy. "A barn owl." He cocooned them in his wings and started outright laughing, "A _barn owl!_ I guess we really are humanity's angels after all." He felt Zira's wings brush against his and the angel huffed indignantly. The demon tumbled them onto the bed, still wrapped around each other, and snickered in elation.

"What a pair we make." Aziraphale remarked indulgently. He snapped his fingers, cleaning them up and miracling them into soft pyjamas. The angel snuggled into the duvet, bringing the fallen angel with him.

Crowley loved him all the more for his unconcern. "Yes, what a pair," he replied. He kissed the angel chastely on the lips, a benediction just for them.

 

 

* * *

 

 

  
[1] Crowley had not been sleeping in his bed for fear of leaving the angel alone on the converted couch. He had miracled a second chaise in the same room so Aziraphale wouldn't fret over this. [return to text]

[2] although angels and demon alike do not need to breathe, the pair had acquired most of the normal habits on the premise of blending in [return to text]

[3] The last time Aziraphale had manifested his wings of his own volition, was when they were facing down Satan [return to text]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale's such a hedonist

**Author's Note:**

> I do not care for the current fancanon that Crowley used to be the archangel Raphael


End file.
